by Peter David
He swirled the slight remains of his glass around in the bottom, and then said softly, "There has to be responsibility taken for actions. That is the galactic constant. There must be responsibility, and in this case, I forced it on Laheera."
"It wasn't your place to do so."
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Sometimes you simply have to assess a situation and say, 'Dammit, it's me or no one.' And if you can't live with no one, then you have to take action."
"But . . ."
"Elizabeth . . . let me explain this with a visual aid."
She rolled her eyes. "Mac, don't patronize me."
"I'm not. I swear, I'm not. I just want to make a point." He picked up Shelby's glass and indicated the remaining contents. "Answer me: Half empty or half full?"
"Aw, Mac . . ."
"Half empty or half full?"
"All right," she sighed. "It's half—"
But before she could complete the sentence he tossed back the drink, then turned the empty glass over and put it on the table. And he said, "The correct answer is: It's gone. So why dwell on it?"
He handed her back the empty glass. She stared into it. "Thanks for the half a drink, Captain."
"My pleasure, Commander. We have to do this again sometime." He rose and said, "Have McHenry set course for the Kayven Ryin and take us there at warp four."
"Already done, sir. We're under way."
He blinked in surprise and glanced out the viewing port. Sure enough, the stars were hurtling past, space warping around them in a spiral of colors. "Ah. Nicely done."
"Clearly I'm going to have to read your mind, since you're being less than successful at communicating with me orally."
He nodded and started to walk past her, but she placed a hand on his chest, stopping him for a moment. "Mac," she said softly, "your self-reliance was always one of the things I lov—that I admired about you. It's probably your greatest strength. But you have to start trusting your officers. You have to start trusting me."
"I do trust you, Elizabeth."
"But you trust yourself more."
He shrugged. "What kind of captain would I be if I didn't?"
Shelby didn't hesitate. "The kind who would have saved Laheera."
For a long, long moment he was silent. Shelby was expecting some sort of smart-aleck reply, so she was surprised when he said, "Do you want to know what bothers me? Not this shadow dance or moralistic carping about justice versus compassion. Do you want to know what bothers me the most?"
"Sure."
He looked at her and there was something very terrible in those purple eyes. "I'm bothered that I turned off the screen. If I was going to refuse to save her, then I should have been strong enough to stand there and watch justice inflicted upon her. Instead I turned away. I let myself out. Oh, I tell myself that I was sparing my crew, but the truth is that I couldn't watch."
She wasn't entirely sure what to say. "Mac, I . . ."
"I used to be a strong man, Elizabeth. I keep this," and he traced the line of his scar, "to remind me of the man I was, because I was always concerned that life in Starfleet . . . life away from Xenex . . . would soften me. Would cause me to lose touch with my roots. And that's exactly what has happened. I made a threat, I was prepared to carry it out . . . and then I wavered. Then I carried out a plan that left a murdering bitch to her deserved reward . . . but could not watch. I've always told myself that I'm still M'k'n'zy of Calhoun, the barely contained savage wearing a cloak of civility. But what if, when you remove the cloak . . . there's nothing there?"
"Mac . . ." and she rested a hand on his shoulder. "You grew up at a time when compassion was a liability. A weakness. Now . . . now compassion can be your greatest strength. Don't be ashamed of it. Embrace it."
His reply was a grunt. "Let's agree to table this discussion, Commander."
"But—"
"No, Commander," he said in a tone that she had come to recognize. She knew there was no point in pursuing the matter as he continued, "Right now, my greater concern is Lieutenant Kebron and Ambassador Si Cwan. Let's hope their enforced time together at the Kayven Ryin was enough to make them think more highly of one another."
SI CWAN
IV.
"I hate you," said Si Cwan.
"Are you ever going to tire of saying that?" asked Kebron.
Deep in the bowels of the dungeons beneath the palace that was once Si Cwan's home, Cwan and Kebron were securely held. It had taken significantly more effort to keep Kebron in one place. While reinforced cable was enough to hold Si Cwan, Kebron was anchored with neural feedback inhibitors. The large electronic shackles amplified whatever energies he put into the cuffs that deadened all sensation in his arms and legs. Try as he might, he simply could not command his limbs to do what he wanted them to.
"I will tire of saying it when I tire of thinking it.
First you fabricated that entire story about your parents in order to gain my sympathy. Then you were unable to help me overwhelm our captors . . ."
"We were outnumbered thirty to one," said Kebron. 'There seemed little point to fighting them."
"Little point?" said Si Cwan incredulously. "Clearly they want to kill us!"
"If they want to kill us, why did they rescue us in the first place?" said the Brikar reasonably.
"Isn't it obvious? They want to make an example of me."
"Example?"
"They want to torture me and force me into making all sorts of confessions. They want to humiliate me, drag me down in front of the people of Thallon. To them I'm a symbol of everything wrong with this world."
"And aren't you? Tell me, Si Cwan . . . did you rule on your behalf, or on behalf of the people?"
"It's not that simple, Kebron."
"Perhaps," rumbled Kebron, "it should be."
Si Cwan sighed impatiently, clearly not interested in continuing the conversation. He looked around the cell and said, "You know . . . the irony of this is sickening."
"Really."
"Years ago, I allowed Soleta to escape from a dungeon cell . . . for all I know, this very one. So now I convince her to aid me in returning to my home . . . and I wind up in the dungeons. It goes full circle."
"Life often does," Kebron said.
Si Cwan tested the strength of his bonds. He pulled on them as hard as he could, but they seemed disinclined to give in the least. Kebron watched him impassively as, for long minutes, Si Cwan struggled, snarling and cursing louder and louder. Finally with an exasperated moan, Si Cwan sank to the floor.
"A very impressive display," Kebron said.
"Save the sarcasm, Kebron. It doesn't matter." And then, in a surprisingly soft voice, he said, "I guess none of it matters."
"Now that sounds somewhat defeatist."
Si Cwan seemed to have developed an interest in staring at his feet. "Kebron . . . what if I succeeded?"
"I'm not following."
"Let's say that I triumphed over my enemies. That the people rose up and supported me. That those who destroyed my life were, in turn, destroyed. Let's say that, once again, I was in power."
"I would assume that you would be pleased by that turn of events."
Cwan looked at him balefully. "It occurs to me that it would be as futile as pulling at these chains. Even if I wielded that power once more, I could not make my life the way it was. I could not bring my sister or any of the others back to life. I could do no more than create a shadow resemblance of my previous existence. I have my admirers, my supporters . . . but so what? For any rational, thinking person, there has to be more to life than that. There used to be, for me. But now there isn't."
"Si Cwan . . ."
"Besides, for every single supporter I may have, there are twenty who would just as soon see me torn to ribbons. People who, if handed a blaster, would aim it at me and pull the trigger themselves. I have spent my life trying to do my best, Kebron. And clearly it was not enough." He nodded slowly. "Let them torture me, I suppose. Let them do what they will.
It doesn't matter anymore. None of it matters."
"And what of your enemies? You said that you didn't mind dying, but you were upset that Zoran would outlive you. Has that changed?"
"If I die before he does, or he before me, eventually we both end up in the same place. That's the odd thing about life. No one gets out alive."
Zak Kebron eyed him speculatively. "I must say, Cwan, I find this new attitude of yours rather annoying. You were more interesting when you were insufferable."
"I contemplate a life where I survive but know nothing but loneliness and memories of lost loved ones . . . or a life where I die after a battery of nauseating tortures. If those two possibilities render me 'annoying,' that's your problem, Kebron, not mine. You are merely a bystander in all this. If and when your vessel arrives on Thallon, they will likely release you to it with no difficulty. But I will be long de—"
The ground rumbled beneath their feet. Although Si Cwan was already seated on the floor, the force of the seismic shock sent him sprawling. Kebron, for his part, did not seem rattled at all. He merely sat there, looking—at worst—mildly vexed.
As the vibrations subsided, Si Cwan shook his head. "Now there's something to hope for: Perhaps the ground will simply swallow me up."
"Look, Cwan . . . you still grate on me," said Kebron. "Should we survive this, I doubt I will be any more inclined to feel friendship for you than I am now. Nonetheless, I dislike the notion of torture. So I promise you, you will not be tortured."
Si Cwan looked at him with a smirk that was, ever so slightly, condescending. "That's very kind of you to promise, Kebron, but I hardly think you're in a position to do anything about it."
At that moment they heard footsteps approach . . . a lot of them. The door to the cell hissed open and Si Cwan blinked against the sudden flood of light. There was a brace of guards there. The highest-ranking officer stepped forward, and he was smirking in a rather insufferable manner.
"Ah," Si Cwan said. "Hello, Herz."
"Hello, Si Cwan," replied the ranking officer. His speaking of Si Cwan's name was done in such a manner that it was clear he was enjoying the absence of any preceding title, such as "lord." "I'm flattered that you remember me."
"Herz was dismissed from our service," Cwan mentioned in an offhand manner to Kebron, "after two Vulcan prisoners escaped. Since the revolution, I see you are once again gainfully employed."
"Yes, no thanks to you. We have immediate plans for you, Si Cwan, and I assure you I have waited a long time for this."
"If what you intend is to take him to be physically abused . . . you shall have to wait a while longer," Kebron said. "You will not take him out of here."
There was something in his voice . . . something very certain, and very unpleasant. So unpleasant, in fact, that the guards seemed disinclined to get any nearer than they currently were. Impatiently, Herz said to them, "What are you standing there for? He can't break those neural inhibitors. Ignore him and take Si Cwan."
The guards started forward, and that was when Kebron began to focus his energy. With a grunt that reverberated throughout the room, he began to put pressure on the large cuffs. Immediately power started to ricochet back through his rock-like hide, but the Brikar either seemed to ignore it or, even more, to be spurred on by it.
"Stop it! You're not impressing anyone!" shouted Herz, trying to make himself heard over the accelerated howling of the cuffs. The fact was, he was lying. All of them were tremendously impressed. They were also having trouble hearing themselves think. The power surge was incredible, earsplitting; the Thallonians put their hands to the sides of their heads, assaulted by the intensity.
Si Cwan watched, wide-eyed, astonished, at the display of unrelenting strength. Kebron doubled, tripled his efforts. His muscles strained against his dusky skin, standing out in stark relief, and he was vibrating so violently that there might well have been another ground quake shaking the cell. Power coruscated around his body in an eye-searing display.
And then he broke the cuffs.
"Break" would actually be an inadequate description. With a roar that sounded more suited to a primordial beast, he shattered them, the bonds snapping under the strain, metal flying everywhere. One piece lodged in the thigh of an unlucky guard and he howled, going down. Another flew straight and true and thudded squarely into Herz's forehead. As it so happened, he was wearing a helmet. This was fortunate. Had he not been clad in that manner, the metal would likely have gone straight through his head without slowing. As it was, his skull was ringing, and it would only be upon removing the helmet later that he would discover the metal had stopped short of piercing his forehead by less than a centimeter.
"Fall back! Fall back!" he shouted, and the others did so, dragging the wounded guard with them. They stumbled back into the hallway and Herz punched a button on the wall that slid the door shut. It closed just barely in time as Zak Kebron slammed into it at full charge. The door, made of pure Staiteium, shuddered but held firm.
The guards' breathing came in ragged, disoriented gasps. Kebron, for his part, sounded utterly calm. "Listen carefully," he said. "Are you listening? I will only say this once."
"You're . . . you're not in a position to—" Herz tried to say, hoping to make up in bluster for his seriously crippled confidence.
"Be quiet," Kebron said impatiently. "I'm in exactly a position to do whatever I wish. If I put my mind to it, and pound on it long enough, I can get through this door. Or straight through the wall if I have to."
"You're . . . you're bluffing . . ." Herz declared.
"Apparently you have me confused with someone who cares what you think," Kebron informed him. "Now, then: There will be no torture of Si Cwan. He is not simply a former, fallen noble. He is a Federation ambassador. As such, he is entitled to certain courtesies under Federation law, including full access to the Federation embassy."
"What," and Herz looked at the others, "What 'Federation embassy'? There's no Federation embassy on Thallon."
"Yes, there is. This is it."
"That's not an embassy! It's a cell!"
"We intend to redecorate," Kebron informed them. "Now then . . . what with this cell being an embassy, you shall not be allowed to trespass here. This door does not keep me in. It keeps you out. If you attempt to violate this embassy, I shall take defensive action which will consist of ripping trespassers apart."
"We're in charge here!" said Herz unconvincingly.
"Out there, yes. In here, I am."
"You can't stay in there forever!"
"True. But we've no desire to. We shall stay until such time that the Starship Excalibur arrives."
"They don't know you're here!"
"I have every confidence in my associates that they will figure out where we are," replied Kebron, and indeed if there was any doubt within him, one could not have told it from his voice. "Once they have arrived, you will take us to them. And we will negotiate from that point. Now, kindly leave. The ambassador wishes to rest. It has been a trying time for him."
Realizing that control of the situation had completely spiraled away from him, Herz rallied himself and declared once more, "That isn't an embassy!" trying to make up in volume what he lacked in conviction.
Utterly composed, Kebron replied, "If you continue to maintain that attitude, we are not going to invite you to our first formal dance. And that, sir, will be your loss."
The wounded guard was still bleeding from where the metal had penetrated his leg, and the guards had decided by this point that further conversation was getting them nowhere. With a quick and angry glare over their shoulders, they hustled off down the hallway. Herz shouted defiantly over his shoulder, "This isn't over! We'll be back!"
"I await the challenge," Kebron called back. He peered after them through narrow slits in the door, watched them go, and then walked over to Si Cwan. With almost no effort at all, he snapped the bonds that had been holding Cwan. Cwan rubbed his wrists as Kebron stepped back and said, "So you fired t
hat guard a few years back. I can believe that."
"How did you do it?" Si Cwan said, barely able to disguise his awe. "How did you break those bonds?"
"By refusing to fail."
Si Cwan shook his head. "I am impressed. I hate to admit it, but I am impressed. Now . . . let's get out of here."
"No."
Cwan was already halfway toward the door when he was brought up short by Kebron's curt answer. "What?"
"I said no."
"But we can break out!" Si Cwan said. "Unless you think you can't break down this door . . ."
"I probably can."
"Then we can escape from this cell!"
"And go where? You are the single most identifiable Thallonian on the planet, and I'll only blend in if there's an avalanche rolling down the main street."
He felt the old anger and impatience with the Brikar welling up within him. "So you would give up."
"Not at all. We do exactly what I said we'd do. We stay here until the Excalibur shows up."
"This is the wrong way to go, Kebron. I'm telling you, we should leave! Now!"
"Very well," and Kebron gestured toward the door. "Go ahead and leave."
"But I can't get through the door!"
"That is not my problem."
With a roar of anger, Si Cwan waved his clenched fists in front of Kebron, until he realized the utter stupidity of such ire since Kebron was his only definite ally on the planet. And besides, hitting Zak Kebron was—at best—an exercise in futility. His fury spent, Si Cwan leaned against the door and murmured, "I hate you."
"Really. I saved you from being tortured."
"I know. That may be why I hate you most of all."
BURGOYNE
V.
BURGOYNE 172 WAS SCRUTINIZING the isolinear chip array, trying to determine possible methods of rearranging the chips to more effectively process sensor data, when s/he became aware of someone standing behind hir. S/he craned hish neck around and saw, to hish surprise, Dr. Selar. The doctor was maintaining her customary resolve, but it seemed to Burgoyne as if it was something of a strain for her.